


Correct My Heart Out

by anxiouslowercase



Category: DCU (Comics), Super Sons (Comics)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Friends to Lovers, Jon is a Dork, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, and damian is a little shit, but he tries his best, but that's okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:01:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26973316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxiouslowercase/pseuds/anxiouslowercase
Summary: 18-year-old Jon Kent has decided he's done with silently pining after his best friend and it's time to do something about it. And because he's a hopeless romantic and knows Damian Wayne is a classical man at heart, he writes him a letter. Out of all the outcomes he pictures in his mind, the answer he gets is not one he was expecting.
Relationships: Jonathan Kent/Damian Wayne
Comments: 14
Kudos: 151





	Correct My Heart Out

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! This is yet another one-shot that comes from a Tumblr prompt: 'I gave you the most heartfelt love letter, but you gave it back to me with spelling and punctuation corrections?!' I genuinely think it fits this ship like a glove.  
> For this shot Jon is 18 and in his first year of uni and Damian is 21 (and has his own apartment because, really, why would a Wayne be at a dorm?)  
> As always, thank you so much to the lovely @achinghcarts for the prompt and for being the most supportive, most amazing beta!  
> Hope you guys enjoy!

_No. Hecking. Way._

Initially, when Jonathan Kent opened his notebook to find a freshly pressed letter between the pages of his last notes, sealed in that stupid monogrammed envelope he knew so well by now, his heart had threatened with jumping out of his body. For you see, folks, our friend Jon here had done something _very brave_ the previous night - after having deliberated on the course of action for months, after having drafted nothing short of eight different texts, emails and letters in the last twenty four hours and having paced around his room reminiscing of the years worth of pining in the lamest possible way-, he'd managed to summon the freaking courage of writing a very heartfelt, extremely honest love letter, finally confessing and owning up to his feelings for his best friend. It'd taken up a few tries, what with the trembling of his hand and the continuous snapping of pens in half due to his nerves, but he'd done it. Not just that, he'd also folded it and slipped it somewhere Damian would easily find it, quite possible in the very near future. Oh! And he hadn't forgotten to sign it, which was also a pretty brave stage despite how telling the rest of the message was. All in all, Jon thought he'd done a good job.

So of course then, finding _this_ in his notebook, seeing that slick _**D.W.**_ stand out so proudly among his scribbles, Jon _obviously_ understood that Damian had found his letter and, most likely, had read it as well. This in itself was already enough to make his heart start beating frantically, almost threatening with drilling a hole out of his chest, and to make his hands start sweating, too. As if that weren't enough, it then hit him that if he was in possession of a letter _himself_ , then that had to mean Damian hadn't just read it but had also _replied_ to him, too. For better or for worse, _he knew_ ; he was aware of Jon's feelings and he had come to a decision about what to do about them. He was both excited and terrified.

Imagine then his surprise when, after having wasted a considerable amount of time trying to pump himself up to pick and open the envelope, he didn't find a response from Damian, but rather his very own letter back. And not _just_ his letter, but his very personal and heartfelt confession treated as an English assignment - marked and corrected in grammar, punctuation and vocabulary.

_In red ink_.

_Signed by Damian Wayne._

Just. _No hecking way._

He's still staring at it actually, not quite being able to believe this is a real thing. On one hand, there's a part of him that's in awe just by the fact that no matter how much time has passed or how much he thinks he knows his best friend, he always manages to surprise him, somehow, keep him on his toes (which may or may not be at least like _a little_ bit attractive.) But on the other hand, he's definitely pissed off because _what the actual heck, Damian?_ How can someone be so tone deaf when it comes to emotions! Even for a bat! Jon is sure his dad did not have to stand this treatment from Bruce.

He's been staring at the paper for a good part of five minutes now, still debating whether to feel impressed, offended, disappointed or hurt. Or maybe all four. Yeah, he probably feels all four. Plus... Anxious. Because no matter how much he looks at the paper, or how many times he reads the letter and its corrections (which is already a titanic task in itself due to the embarrassment) he cannot for the life of him find _any_ hint of an answer. Heck, not even a faint idea as to the _reaction_ the message had produced. So all he'd gone through, all the nerves and the stress and the overthinking, had been for nothing because he is still in the same place as before.

Actually, scratch that - he's in a _worse_ place now, because he's at a clear disadvantage. _Now_ Damian is well aware of his feelings - for how long he's been keeping them, the intensity with which he feels them, not to mention the ridiculously _cheesy_ way in which he processes them. He knows all that whereas Jon, on the other hand, is still completely in the dark as regards the bat's feelings. And it's even scarier and more stressful than just plain pining, if he has to be honest.

So yeah, this sucks. Maybe he should actually just feel something closer to anger right now; that sounds reasonable, right? Except he can't really muster himself to channel _just_ that. Not when the other very pressing thought on the back of his mind is how the only way out of this is going to Damian and ask him _to his face_ what he thinks. How he feels.

And that's just terrifying. This is literally why he wrote a letter in the first place, and now he still has to go and face his best friend-slash-crush without a single hint of what might come of it! Trying to picture it already makes his palms sweaty and his feet restless. And he's pretty sure the nausea he's feeling right now is completely unrelated to the half a can of string cheese he ate earlier. _And yet_ , as anxiety-inducing the mere thought of it is, Jon knows that he needs to do it, and he needs to get through it as soon as possible, cause this whole state of total ignorance is much more nerve wracking than his years of pining ever were and, honestly? He does _not_ have the patience to deal with it.

Which is why he is now, at eleven something at night, completely barefoot and still dressed in his worn out Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt (the one he exclusively wore when he intended to pull all-nighters those times he didn't patrol, that had been a target of Damian's mockery many times,) landing on the cold fire escape outside his friend's kitchen window. It's not that he's feeling particularly confident, nor does he know _for sure_ what he's going to say, but what he _does_ know is that he wouldn't have been able to focus on his midterm paper without at least trying to solve this. So for his own sanity, he takes a deep--

"What in the _world_ are you doing, Kent?"

He blinks twice, taken aback by the sudden apparition of the guy on the other side of the window. How did he...? He hadn't even knocked on the glass yet! He was sure he hadn't been in the room, he was counting on some more time to mentally prepare himself before going in for the talk! But of course, he should've known better than to imagine Damian wouldn't find _some way_ of gaining the upper hand on the situation, more than he already did. He wants to get at least a bit irritated but... _Heck, he's cute._

"J.?" Jon can feel his cheeks warming up, realizing he's still just standing there, staring at his friend like a total creep without saying anything. _As if he needed another reason to look at me weird_.

"H-hey Dames, I..." He clears his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Um, are you... Er, you have a minute?"

The vigilante doesn't respond right away, instead narrowing his eyes slightly in that way that always makes him feel he can see right through him - which is probably not far from the truth. Despite this, he tries to appear unbothered and collected, even when the other keeps silent as he checks his phone and then... Checks _him_ out? No, that can't be right. He's probably just... Judging him in some way, no need to get all worked up by this, _it's fine, Jon, just breathe._

"I cannot believe you're still wearing that awful t-shirt," is what Damian finally breathes out, opening the window and taking a step back, leaving room for him to get in. The youngest Kent looks down at himself before moving forward, a small pout on his lips.

"It's very soft and very comfy," he states, climbing in. "They're my studying clothes." As he sits on the sill, he thinks he hears Damian sigh something that sounds suspiciously like _you're ridiculous_ , but since there's no real bite to the words, he lets it slide.

"What are you doing here, then?" That he does say in a louder tone, throwing at him a pair of fluffy slippers Jon is _pretty sure_ he'd shown his friend on a website a couple of weeks ago. He puts them on with a little smile before actually setting his feet on the immaculate tiles. "I don't see you studying." Of course he doesn't mean it in any accusing way (not for real, this is just Damian,) but it's enough to make his face catch fire once again, as he is reminded of the reason why he's come.

The younger boy looks down, inspecting the floor in an attempt for his rather longer locks to at least _try_ and cover part of his face. Not that this is any guarantee of his friend not noticing - for all he knows, he is probably just asking out of politeness because just _when_ does he not know stuff? Still, he knows he has to _say it_ because emotions and feelings are to this day not things to which the bat gets into willingly. Plus, he wants to keep trying to own up to this, gain back some control.

"Well I was _going to_ , but then--" he scratches the back of his neck, leaning his weight gently against the counter. Damian stays in front of him, his body resting against the fridge but in a way that was somewhat elegant, still attentive. It was such a similar posture yet he seemed so incredibly collected Jon can't help but think they're actually polar opposites many times. And his heart drops a little. _Bit too late for that, Jonno._ "Then I opened my notes."

He manages to gather enough courage to properly look at the guy's face, take in his annoyingly unfazed expression. It doesn't really change as Jon waits up on him to pick up the ball that is very clearly in his court; on the contrary, the only difference is the slight furrow on his brow that almost makes it look like he has _no idea_ why he's stopped talking and _oh really, does he really have to spell it out?_

"... Were they incomplete? Indecipherable?" He scoffs, arms crossing over his chest. "That wouldn't surprise me, your penmanship is atrocious, to say the least." And, in all honesty, for a second the half kryptionian allows himself to merely gape at him because _no hecking way_.

"Well, it didn't seem like you had too much trouble reading it in order to _grade_ the letter I wrote you," he finally spits, standing straighter and crossing his arms as well. He even dares to fix his gaze on him and _boy_ is that a good choice. For a fleeting moment, it seems like the reminder gives Damian a little slap and even takes him by surprise, if the faint blush that dusts his brown skin is anything to go by. And it feels _good_. He actually has to make an effort not to smile.

"On the contrary," he finally says after clearing his throat. "I had quite a good deal of trouble with many of your words, to the point I had to use calligraphy equipment to help myself out." In a manner that seems pretty dignified and in concordance with his previous collected stance, he turns around to move into the small living room; as always, Jon immediately follows.

He's ready to retaliate, to complain once more (this time _to his face_ ) about just how rude everything about this situation has been, how he felt straight up ignored and how much that hurt. He's even rolling his shoulders and taking a deep breath to start talking, ready to stand up for himself and his feelings, when the youngest Wayne turns around, his expression completely different. His eyes look a bit shinier, and his face seems to have lost some of its sharpness, leaving instead a softness that, hadn't Jon known better, would've fooled him as nerves. And he speaks.

"It wasn't something I wanted to leave to free, probably misinterpretation." He moves towards the couch but doesn't sit on it; almost in sync, Jon copies him. "I wanted your every word, exactly how you planned it." The rare, raw feeling in the air is finally cut by a scoff; it's so surprising it actually startles him a little. "Though I must admit that random abbreviations, internet lingo and chat writing are hardly good ways of wooing someone, Kent." _Of course._

The young superhero doesn't let himself be discouraged or embarrassed, and instead lets an easy smile play on his lips as he flops down onto the couch. _This_ he knows. Snark and teasing and being a royal pain in the butt he's definitely acquainted with. _This he likes._

"And the word _wooing_ has hardly been used in this century, Damian." He receives a half-hearted glare, but he can also see the other taking a rather confident step towards the couch, and honestly that's already a win in Jon's books. It helps with _his_ confidence. "Besides I... Maybe kinda hoped I had somehow already managed to do that. As you did with me."

If his face was hot before, right now it is literally _on fire_. A part of him knows how nonsensical this is, considering his best friend _already knows_ he's stupidly in love with him, that he's read his letter enough times he managed to correct it like a paper, that he's already done _enough_. But there's another part that still feels nervous butterflies saying the words out loud, hearing them roll off his tongue; a part of him that is scared Damian will push him away because he dared pursue the subject even after he actively tried to cut all communication attempts on it. So sue him for being anxious. It gets even worse when his best friend rolls his eyes - he's doomed.

"Let me be extremely clear here, J. - at any point I actively tried to sweep you off your feet, or 'hit on you,'" he says, making air quotes that would've made him groan were his stomach not falling at his feet. He sighs, but Damian pays him little mind as he continues, back straightening, posture tall and confident. "Courtship was supposed to start now, first step being a meal together at home." I'm sorry _what was that?_

His head shots up, eyes wide as two china plates staring unashamed at Damian, almost _waiting_ for him to somehow correct himself or tell him he is not understanding correctly. But the vigilante doesn't, and instead he is gifted that gentle blush in his cheeks and across his nose again and _wow_ he is ridiculously cute. When the young Kent fails to produce a sound, he clears his throat and continues.

"I figured you'd show up tonight, so I took the liberty of changing my patrol schedule, and I ordered your favorite types of pizza - we're set for dinner, dessert, and whatever comes afterwards before you fly back to your dorm." He moves across the room with elegance, walking up to a small tray with two glasses, which he takes. "And though I do not condone you slacking on your academic life, for this night alone I offer myself to help you complete any assignment I might be delaying with my invitation." Damian offers him one of the wide glasses in his hands, and he takes it almost without hesitation, his brain still too busy trying to process the situation he's finding himself in, which is so _unlike_ any scenario he could've imagined because... _What?_ And he was supposed to gather all this from...?

"... I'm sorry, what does _this_ have to do with you being so tone deaf to give me back my very heartfelt confession with nothing but grammar corrections?" The smirk he gets in return makes his heart do a silly flip.

"If you must know, I couldn't and wouldn't allow my boyfriend to write _like that_ \- I have standards, Kent."


End file.
